


Mud Pies

by Murdersfriesandgayguys



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Childhood Friends, Class Differences, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Friendship, Hannibal and Will are childhood best friends, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jealousy, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:48:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28939485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murdersfriesandgayguys/pseuds/Murdersfriesandgayguys
Summary: Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter met at four and five years old while living next to one another. Their friendship blossomed quickly into something beautiful.But will it last?
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was born out of sheer passion and I wrote most of it in just one night so I apologize for any grammar mistakes I might make.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this sort of half sweet, half angst chapter! I promise there's more sweetness to follow!

No matter the social class or what school you went to, a stick, some leaves and a mixing pot of some sort means making potions and spells or mud pies. Mucky hands make stains on even the finest of material because, at the end of the day, a four year old child will behave like a child no matter what environment they’re put into. That’s how they met too. A poor boatyard mechanic’s son and the son of a Count. One wore torn up old jeans and shoes that were a size too small and the other wore a new polo shirt every day and shorts that never seemed to rip and socks up to his knees that never seemed to fall down. There’s no such thing as an unlikely friendship when you’re four and five years old because, to a child, class doesn’t exist. It doesn’t matter. As long as there’s a willingness to get dirty and play, kids will play without question of race or gender or the clothes on their back. 

Living out in the countryside near the port was where they first encountered one another, living very different lives only a short walk from each other’s houses. One lived in a massive manor house with acres of land and part of the river for itself and one lived in a little farmhouse with wooden porch and a barn full of boat parts and old cars. 

“Want to play?” One asked the other over the easily climbable fence separating their properties. He got a smile in response and an enthusiastic nod. What followed was a game of epic proportions despite the divide between them. The intense battle to end all battles between the good guy, Policeman Will, and the evil Doctor Hannibal. They laughed and tumbled about in the dirt for hours, hitting each other with comically long sticks until Hannibal was called inside for dinner and Will’s father came outside to drag him home by the arm. 

“Meet up here tomorrow!” was all that Will heard before Hannibal trotted inside, looking entirely too pleased with his mucky knees and scraped hands. Will went home too, home with his daddy who made him a cheese sandwich for dinner and gave him a glass of water with a tiny drop of fruit juice in it. 

He wondered what his new best friend Hannibal was having for dinner too while his father scolded him for giving him more laundry to do. He didn’t care. He had a friend. 

Despite Beau’s reluctance to let his boy out on his own at such a young age and onto someone else’s property, he could do little to stop Will from seeing Hannibal. Eventually he swallowed his pride and asked Simonetta Lecter to keep an eye on him while they played and that he’d come pick him up after work. The arrangement worked perfectly well for Hannibal and Will. They played in Hannibal’s garden under the watchful eye of Hannibal’s mother.

Mrs Lecter even provided them with some shovels and a few pots and pans to make potions in and dressed Hannibal in some of his more suitable clothing for rolling around in the dirt with Will. They never talked much, too full of laughter to make conversation, but when they did talk, Will noticed an unusual characteristic of Hannibal’s voice.

“You talk funny.” Will pointed out one afternoon as they tipped out a rather impressive pot of mud and watched it hold it’s shape for a few moments before it collapsed and began to creep along the grass. Hannibal squealed and tried to crawl away from the onslaught of mud, laughing all the while. 

“I’m from a different place. My mum and dad talk to me in a different way to you.” He answered when he was certain he wasn’t going to be attacked by any more mud. That gave Will pause, his shovelling stopping for a moment as he considered what that meant. 

“My Daddy talks to me in a different way sometimes too.” He decided, going back to his shovelling and then adding water. He noticed a worm wriggling on the surface of the water and frowned, reaching in to rescue it and set it in the soil of the flowerbed that they weren’t allowed to dig in. “There… Better.” He mumbled to himself before jumping up and looking at Hannibal who was dissecting a different worm with a shovel.

“No no you can’t do that! You can’t do that! You can’t!” He yelled, eyes filling with tears. He obviously yelled loud enough to alert Mrs Lecter because she came running out, holding a hand on her tummy as she ran. 

“What happened, Will?” She asked quietly, kneeling in front him and pulling him close to her chest to soothe him.

“H-Hannibal cut up a worm! The worm didn’t do anything and he cut it up!” He sobbed into her chest, hiccuping with every sob.

“Hannibal! No cutting up worms!” She scolded her five year old for upsetting Will and insisted they both come inside and get cleaned up so they could have some lunch. 

Will refused to speak to Hannibal for a full half hour before all was forgiven when they started playing with trains in Hannibal’s room and Hannibal let him be the conductor. 

That’s the way arguments always went between the two. If Will was too rough and tumble he would win Hannibal back by giving him a nice stick he found or showing him a particularly fat pigeon in one of the trees. They were never angry at one another for more than an hour. 

They were, without a doubt, the best of friends. Completely inseparable. 

  
  


***

Will didn’t go to the same elementary school as Hannibal. Of course he didn’t. Will’s father didn’t have the money to afford private school for his son, but Hannibal didn’t mind. It didn’t stop them from seeing one another. Their games from early childhood developed from all out battles into a full universe. The only difference was that, instead of Hannibal being a villain, they worked together to achieve a common goal: Saving the world. Will would take the villains down peacefully and Hannibal would tend to the injuries of the victims and make sure they survived. In their own little universe nobody ever died, crime never prevailed and Will and Hannibal never fought. It was perfect.

As they got a bit older, games began to fade into conversations about school and the differences in their learning with Hannibal going as far as trying to fill Will in on the topics he didn’t cover each semester. He taught him German and French and even a bit of his native Lithuanian over the years. Will lapped it up like water and soon they were having full conversations in broken French with Will occasionally teaching Hannibal a bit of Creole when he made an easy mistake in his grammar or pronunciation. 

Hannibal liked their dynamic. He got to teach Will and watch him practically absorb things that were supposedly a year too advanced for him and Will got to keep feeding his insatiable hunger for knowledge on all topics from languages to maths and even science. Hannibal admired his desperation to learn, his constant need for new reading material and his gratitude when Hannibal would check books out of his school library in his name in order to give them to Will to read.

There was also the welcome addition of his new little sister Mischa who adored Will and who Will adored as well. They sat and watched her play while they talked, making sure she was safe and happy while they studied. She did much the same as Hannibal and Will did when they were younger, plucking grass up and chewing teddy bears.

Hannibal admired how good Will was with his little sister despite having no siblings of his own. He was so natural with her and included her in their games as if she were the same age as them. 

“Maybe you should be a teacher.” He suggested one day, smiling as Will spun Mischa around and set her down. 

“A teacher? No, I'm going to be a police officer.” He replied matter-of-factly, rolling his sweater sleeves up to his elbows and smiling down at Mischa, “I want to make sure Mischa and all the other little kids are safe. Other people can be teachers.” He shrugged.

“You’d make a great police officer, Will.” Hannibal smiled up at him from his place beneath the oak tree. He looked down at his lap and opened the book that was sitting there and beginning to read. Will joined him a few moments later and rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, reading with him and trying to keep up with the speed of Hannibal’s page flicking.

It was comfortable and nice. They still got on well despite the clear differences in their lives.

But he could tell that there was resentment building. As they got older and neared teenage years, Will would start huffing at the mention of school or extracurriculars. He was completely uncaring of Hannibal’s increasing swimming ability or the grades that he was getting. All he’d want to talk about was the boatyard or the dog or whatever novel he was reading at the time and soon, even the discussions of novels stopped. He stopped asking for books to be borrowed for him, stopped asking Hannibal about French pronunciations or German words. Their lessons faded into nothing and Hannibal was suddenly struck with the fact that they had absolutely nothing in common anymore. He didn’t appreciate dogs or boats like Will did and he feared that it was Will’s not-so-subtle way of telling him that he was sick of his company, that he wanted to move on.

Will always wore his heart on his sleeve, but kept his emotions locked away under a heavy coating of indifference, a coating that Hannibal thought he had broken through. So when he asked Will if he wanted to come in for dinner like he had done countless times before and Will snapped with, “We can afford to eat, Hannibal! We’re not  _ that _ poor you know!” Hannibal was suitably shocked and hurt. 

“I never meant to cause offence.” He frowned, met with a face of pure anger to the point of tears from Will.

“I don’t need your charity and I  _ certainly _ don’t need your fancy private school talk tellin’ me you didn’t mean it!” The boy practically spat at him, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes. Over the course of their six years of friendship Hannibal had seen Will cry only a handful of times, but this was different. This wasn’t hurt, this was pure resentment. He stood there still as Will turned and ran off to his house without looking back, leaving Hannibal confused about what he actually did wrong. 

Had he been too boastful about the library? Had he complained about the uniform or the difficulty of his classes too much? Then it hit him. 

“I’m sorry that I’m late. Myself and one of my classmates, Bedelia, went on a walk after school to discuss our weekend assignments and I lost track of time.” 

“Oh. It’s fine.”

Will wasn’t angry about the offer of dinner, he was upset that Hannibal had a friend other than him to talk to. For the longest time it had just been the two of them against the world. They were their own little bubble. They never spoke of friends or family, just academics and literature. Hannibal had obviously slipped up a few times before the outburst, enough to cause Will to distance himself. Perhaps he didn’t feel good enough. 

Maybe it was destined to happen. Will was never going to do the things that Hannibal was going to do. Hannibal planned on being a surgeon while Will’s plans had changed from being a police officer to a plan to finish highschool and work on the boatyard for the rest of his life despite Hannibal’s insistence that he could get into any college he wanted to on a scholarship if he wanted to. 

Will didn’t seem to see it that way. He was convinced that, no matter what, he was destined to end up like his father, cleaning weeds out of boat propellers during the summer and doing little to nothing in the winter, scraping by on odd jobs. That wasn’t what Will wanted, but it was what he thought he deserved. 

No amount of sense can penetrate a wall as thick as the one that Will Graham had built around his future where there was once a dream to become a police officer and help people. Hannibal just had to give up, he supposed. No use trying to talk to a brick wall. 

So give up he did. 

They drifted apart quickly after that. Will stopped calling for Hannibal and Hannnibal stopped calling for Will and, even as middle school was about to fade into high school, they never spoke. Will worked on the boatyard on the weekends and Hannibal started spending more time with Bedelia and Anthony. They appreciated poetry and art and were going to be attending the same high school as him. It just made sense to become friendly with them.

After a while he didn’t even think about Will anymore save for the few occasions when he saw Will’s house like a little boat on the horizon.

But even then he paid little to no mind to the house. In his mind, he had done nothing wrong. It was Will who had the problems. He couldn’t handle the fact that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted and that Hannibal was on a path to success. 

At least he didn’t have to think about him anymore. He was going to go to a private school that would help him achieve his goals of becoming a surgeon and Will would go to public school and get his diploma so he could work on a boatyard and drink himself to death just like his father was doing. 

It suited him just fine and he was sure Will was the same.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what American High school is so please forgive me for my incompetence and enjoy this silly chapter.

Beau Graham was insistent that Will needed to go to private school in Baltimore and took on an extra job to afford the tuition a few years previous. He knew that Will’s little friend Hannibal was already attending there and so he figured that it might be nice for his boy to have a friend when he goes into the big bad world of high school. 

But when he announced his plans to his son, Will didn’t seem all too pleased with the suggestion, huffing at the mention of his friend and waving him off. 

Confused, he decided to defend his position. “I didn’t save for years jus’ for you to be ungrateful, Willy.” He grunted, crossing his arms over his chest, “What’s got you down, boy?” He sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting backwards on it. If there was something wrong he wanted to know. He’d go marching on over to the Lecter’s if Will needed him to. He hated to see his boy, his only child, looking so glum. 

Will said nothing, just sat there with a frown on his face and his eyes pointed at the table, away from him as usual. He never liked making eye contact. Not even when he was a baby. Beau had hoped that he’d grow out of it, but he never did. 

“Look, Willy, if there’s somethin’ goin’ on I want to know about it. I don’t like seein’ you all down in the dumps like that. You look like the dog does when I step on his tail by accident.” Will stirred slightly then, glancing up at his father briefly before looking back down again. 

“I haven’t been friends with Hannibal in a long time, Daddy. We fell out over a year ago and you didn’t even notice.” His voice was steeped in bitterness and Beau felt it like a dagger to the heart. He tried to reason with him, but reasoning with a teenager is like reasoning with a brick wall. 

“I know I ain’t been around for you much recently, Will, but I’m tryin’, I really am.” He rubbed his temples, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry you fell out, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is a great school. Please just think about it, will you?” Will froze for a moment, staring at the glass of water in front of him intently before nodding slowly and swallowing.

“Yeah. I’ll think about it. Thanks, Daddy. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.” He flashed Beau a smile and then looked back down again. With that, Will got up and sulked his way up the stairs without another word.

  
  


***

The school itself was nothing too impressive. When Will thought of private schools he thought of massive brick buildings with creeper climbing up the walls and fountains and rivers with massive greens, but that wasn’t what this school was. It was just like any other school with a bit more land at its disposal and a few more buildings. It surprised him how huge the campus was considering there were only a few hundred students attending. He supposed that people came to these schools for better opportunities so he could see why they needed the space. 

He wondered what had landed Hannibal Lecter here in the first place. It wasn’t the number one school in the area. Far from it, but he presumed that the facilities for art and swimming were impressive. Hannibal always valued hobbies just as much as he valued his studies so it wasn’t absurd to think that Hannibal would give up the best of the best in education so that he could actually enjoy himself. 

The ponderings on Hannibal Lecter’s motivations were limited though. He was far too concerned with facing his first day at high school, a fancy one at that with a uniform and a tie that made him feel like he couldn’t catch his breath. 

As he wandered into the school, through the modest crowd of people, he supposed that he should locate his homeroom. He didn’t really want to be late on the very first day. He walked through the corridors, trying to get his bearings with the shitty map that the school provided on his induction day. 

On his way up the stairs to where he presumed his homeroom was supposed to be, he was suddenly very aware of how out of place he was. Even wearing the uniform, his backpack was a dead giveaway, covered in motor oil stains and with the straps fraying. He’d never felt self conscious about his appearance before but now it was all he could think about. He was surrounded by kids who had gel in their hair and wore leather satchels or branded backpacks that probably cost more than Will’s last three birthday presents combined.

He made it to his homeroom without much incident and decided to have a look around the floor he was on while he waited for the bell to sound. The building he was in seemed to have more of an emphasis on academics. Language classrooms, teacher offices and the doorway to the library could all be found in the building. At least he didn’t have to go very far in order to get to his French class. 

As soon as the bell chimed, Will went to the room and chose a seat in the back, hoping that a seating plan wouldn’t be implemented. Luckily, his homeroom teacher was a very accommodating woman and allowed him to stay where he was. He sat next to a girl with long black hair who wore her uniform with pride, but didn’t look like she belonged in it. Will found himself enraptured by her for the entirety of homeroom until she finally noticed and smiled at him, introducing herself as Alana Bloom. 

The rest of classmates didn’t bother him too much throughout his first day nor did they actually make any effort to speak to him whatsoever, but he didn’t mind that too much. He didn’t need friends. All he needed to do was try to go so far under the radar that nobody even knew he was there until he left in four years' time. He didn’t want friends. The last time he had a friend didn’t exactly end well and he really didn’t want to experience that level of hurt ever again.

So for now, all he had to do was survive his first week and keep on top of his studies. Make his daddy proud. That’s all he had to do.

Flying under the radar proved far easier than he originally thought it would. He sat at the back of all of his classes and made a point of only speaking once spoken to, but his own argumentative personality proved difficult to overcome in Dr. Chilton’s class. 

“William, your essay was very good, but I don’t appreciate you using your financial struggles to try and get you a better grade.” The weasel of a man templed his fingers and rested his chin atop them, levelling his gaze on Will.

Will leaned against the edge of one of the desks in the front row, watching as the last of the students left the room to rush off to their next class. 

“With all due respect, Dr. Chilton, the essay title was “My dream when I leave high school is...” and I have serious financial issues which means that I likely won’t get the opportunity to achieve my dreams like the other kids in this class who’ll get into Hollywood because their daddy knows someone or who’ll become surgeons because mommy decided to get them art classes when they were kids and now they’ve managed to bypass all of the entrance tests with  _ art _ .” Chilton raised an eyebrow at the last part. Maybe it was a little bit too specific, but Will didn’t care. The point still stood. “If the essay was good then you should grade it because it was good. I don’t need pity. If I wanted to be pitied I would have let my dad spend my tuition money on drink instead of coming here.” He spat, glaring at the man in front of him.

“That’s no way to speak to a teacher, William. You ought to watch your mouth or you’ll have problems here.” He narrowed his eyes and sat up straight, stretching out in his poorly fitted suit. 

“In any case, ‘The Cost of a Future’ was not an appropriate title for this essay and I will be deducting marks for it.” Will rolled his eyes and hiked his bag up onto his shoulder, shrugging.

“Do whatever you want. If I think you've marked me unfairly just because I’m not rich then I’ll bring it up with the board. Have a pleasant day, Dr. Chilton.” 

He left quickly after that, walking down the corridor with his head down. He was sure that his little spat with the most hated teacher in the school wouldn’t go unnoticed and cursed himself for letting his emotions win out over common sense. What difference would it make if he didn’t get good grades? He wasn’t going to college anyway so why bother?

But then he thought about Beau and how hopeful he had been when sending Will to the school, how he had insisted that he was going to do great things and that this school would be the pathway to them. He couldn’t let him down. 

So he went to the library to get his homework done, tucking himself away in the corner where nobody would find him and where he couldn’t see anybody for at least an hour and maybe through lunch if he was on a roll.

“Did you hear about the freshman who yelled at Chilton this morning?” A smooth voice came through the bookshelves, a girl’s voice. 

“Yes I did and I think it was unspeakably rude for Chilton to assume that everyone attending this school is from a stable financial background.” Will froze in his seat at the sound of the second voice. It was deep, but carried an accent that he recognised. 

So far, Will had managed to avoid Hannibal Lecter. He hadn’t caught sight of him even once in the three weeks that he had been attending high school. Until now. He was certain, without any doubt whatsoever, that the group of approaching voices was Hannibal’s friend group, including the girl that had started their argument way back when. 

Quickly, he began packing his things, ready to make a break for it when they rounded the corner, but they never did. Instead, they sat at a table on the other side of the shelf, meaning that they had no idea that Will was there, but Will could hear every word they said.

“Don’t you think that the student was rude too? They picked a fight with a teacher over an essay grade. It’s just one essay. He could have rewritten it. He was just looking for a fight.” A new voice with an English accent chimed in as they all settled and papers began shuffling and pencil cases were unzipped. 

“I think that defending your right to an education is a worthy cause for a fight. If they deserve a good grade, I hope that they get it.” The voice which he presumed to be Hannibal’s spoke, calm and reasonable as ever. Will was sure that if he knew who the student was, he wouldn’t be so understanding. 

He soon grew bored of eavesdropping and returned to his work, scribbling down notes in a copybook like his life depended on it. He didn’t have much time to waste if he wanted to get to work on time after school. He didn’t notice the lull in conversation or the approaching footsteps until it was too late. The boy who had been speaking, the familiar one, was browsing a shelf right by him, practically trapping Will in his seat. If he were to move now, Hannibal would definitely recognise him and he’d know exactly who picked a fight with Dr. Chilton. 

He kept his head down in his copybook, only glancing up to get a look at the boy to make sure that it was Hannibal and not just another European student.

Unfortunately, he was met with the full, undivided attention of the boy who was, on closer inspection, definitely Hannibal Lecter. He still looked much the same as he had a few years ago except he was far taller and far more handsome. 

“Oh I’m sorry for staring. You look like somebody that I know.” Hannibal smiled kindly, going back to browsing the shelves. Will let out a soft sigh of relief. He didn’t recognise him. 

“Did you hear about the student who stood up to Chilton this afternoon? It’s the talk of the school.” Hannibal spoke once more, turning to face Will with a book in his hand and a somewhat sly smile on his lips. 

Will coughed to clear his throat, trying to decide on an accent to disguise his own and failing miserably, settling on his usual thick Southern drawl, “Uh.. Yeah I heard. I don’t usually concern myself with gossip, though.” He looked straight back down.

“It’s nice to see that you’re getting the education you deserve, Will. Don’t push your bounds farther than you can reach.” Hannibal warned, walking off to his table with a book under his arm and leaving Will to sit there, completely shell shocked and embarrassed as all hell. 

Quickly, he packed up his bag and fled from the library, making a break for the courtyard instead.

Of course Hannibal knew who he was. He was stupid to think that he could hide himself from Hannibal, one of the smartest people he knew even to this day. The boy who had taught him how to read Shakespeare while also stating that Shakespeare wasn’t as good as everyone made him out to be. The boy who could, last time Will checked, read at least three languages at an almost fluent level. There was no hope of him ever pulling the wool over Hannibal’s eyes. 

***

Clever boy. Hannibal could keep a secret, keep the identity of the anonymous student who had bullied Dr. Chilton into a better grade a secret between himself and Will. 

It was a surprise to see him there. He had needed to do a double take to ensure that he hadn’t made a mistake in identifying the boy. He had grown, of course, but his features had truly begun to fit his face correctly. He was extremely handsome with curls neatly tamed with gel rather than left wild as they had been when he knew him last. He hadn’t quite hit his growth spurt by the look of things. He was still skinny and small as he always had been, but had broadened slightly in the shoulders and was likely working on the boatyard with his father. 

Seeing Will was a setback that he wasn’t prepared for. He wasn’t sure where to proceed from here. He could simply ignore Will and avoid him, but he had a feeling that Will Graham was going to become a very important part of the high school whether he wanted to or not. Pulling stunts like arguing with one of the more powerful teachers in the school was sure to get him noticed and Hannibal knew that it was the last thing that Will wanted. 

He was curious about what was going to happen, but feared for his own status should Will decide to tell everyone that they were once friends. 

With that, he grabbed his bag and walked to the bus stop. He wouldn’t usually go home on weekends, but he had an important event to attend that required him to be home. 

He sighed as he got on the bus, trying to choose a seat where he could sit on his own. Unfortunately there were no single seats left and so he was forced to sit next to Will Graham. 

“Going home for the weekend? That’s very unlike you.” Will mumbled as Hannibal settled into the seat beside him, “Does your mom not come and pick you up? You don’t seem like the bus type.” Hannibal shook his head. He knew that it was meant to be a jab at his wealth again, but he ignored it.

“I usually don’t go home or get the bus, but it’s Mischa’s birthday this weekend and I wanted to be there for it.” Will seemed slightly troubled by this, nodding his head and looking down at his lap. He began to fidget with his hands, wringing them. 

“Oh I didn’t know. That’s nice of you.” He muttered quietly and Hannibal nodded in agreement.

“Well I’m not completely terrible, Will.” He teased and turned his attention to the road ahead of them. Will rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and turned, gently tapping Hannibal on the shoulder to get his attention. Hannibal huffed and turned to look at him.

“Could you tell her I said Happy Birthday? I know I haven't seen her in a while, but I still want to wish her well.” He seemed as if he was nervous about even asking, anxious. Perhaps he was feeling guilty for having left without telling poor Mischa why. 

Hannibal decided that this was Will’s battle to fight and not one that concerned him. “She missed you terribly when you left, Will. I don’t want to go getting her hopes up that you might visit her only for her to be disappointed again. It wouldn’t be fair at all.”

Will frowned deeply and turned away from Hannibal then, looking out the window at the passing cars, “Yeah… I guess you’re right.” 

The rest of the journey was completely silent. The only other words exchanged being a simple goodbye at the opposing laneways of their houses. Will went one way and Hannibal went the other, neither one looking back at any point to see if the other had done the same for they both knew that there was no point. 

Hannibal thought nothing of it until the next day when there was a knock on the door. His father went to open it only to find a package on the doorstep and Will retreating rather quickly from the house. The package was wrapped in newspaper with a bow made out of twine with a tag attached made out of leftover printer paper saying “To Mischa. Happy Birthday, Love Will and Beau from next door.” It was simple and was quite possibly the best that he could do. 

Hannibal scowled when he saw it because of course Will wouldn’t let this go. He just had to be kind. He always did. Mischa was delighted, though, tearing into the paper far quicker than she had done for any other presents, including the one that Hannibal had so lovingly picked out for her. Inside was a little doll made out of straw from the surrounding fields with a smile drawn on in Sharpie and little blushing cheeks stained with rose petals most likely. Mischa loved it and refused to put it down for the rest of the day, insisting that a place be set for the doll so that she could eat with them too. 

Hannibal realised then and there that Will wasn’t trying to spite him, wasn’t trying to make a fool out of him or hurt Mischa by coming back into her life only to leave again. All he was doing was being Will. The same Will that he always was. A kind, selfless boy with more affection than sense in his mind. 

Perhaps it was time to attempt to bury the hatchet. What was the worst that could happen? He and Will become friends again and talk like they used to? It certainly didn’t seem like much of a downside. So it was decided then. He would ask Will to accompany him on a walk the next day and if he refused he would take it in his stride as always. Perhaps bringing Mischa along might butter him up slightly. For now, he was trying to enjoy Mischa’s celebrations and committed that broad smile of hers to his memory. 

  
  



End file.
